


it's cold out here

by bishounen_curious



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Altered Senses, Emotions, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Underage Drinking, Voyeurism, bad use of memes, this is all one huge meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 16:15:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6994705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bishounen_curious/pseuds/bishounen_curious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seijoh's parties are always a mess, but this one takes the cake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's cold out here

**Author's Note:**

> O SHIT WHADDUP
> 
> (i tried writing in present tense and i’m disturbed with the result)
> 
> (also there’s a lot of substance abuse in this. be warned.)
> 
> please love [chonpalm](http://absolite.co.vu/) and [ingthing](http://ingthing.tumblr.com/) for all their hard beta work. without them i would've fallen off my unicycle ages ago

It’s loud in here. Hanamaki knows it is, but he just can’t _hear_ anything.

Things just get drowned out when he reaches this level of intoxication. It’s like all the alcohol he dumps into himself clogs up his senses: his nose, his eyes, his ears. Especially his ears. The deafening, conversing voices, the bass-heavy music, the gentle clicking of his blunt fingernails on his beer can: Hanamaki can’t really hear any of it unless he invests an exorbitant amount of energy focusing on sounds. It’s far too much for a wasted seventeen year old boy to do - he won’t even take the time to bend down and retie his undone shoelace.

Hanamaki always starts out a party just wanting to feel good, feel free…just not be himself for a little bit. To not be so stifled, or stressed about university, or dwell on the fact that their team was good but apparently _not good enough_.

He just wants to chill for a few hours - is that too much to ask? 

But sadly, alcohol just isn’t his thing. Is it anyone’s thing? Does anyone genuinely _like_ the way it makes them feel? Admittedly, the start of his buzz is always worth it. The giggly warmth in his gut, the loosening of his lips, the comedic way he has trouble balancing. That’s all fun and games until he begins feeling heavy and clumsy - like he is right now. He doesn’t like the fullness in his belly, how he has serious difficulties moving in a non-self-destructive way, how he just feels _really fucking sad for no reason_.

He doesn’t want to spend one of his last few team parties so somber. Hanamaki just wants to be able to joke with his teammates, share some memories, do some stupid shit with each other. He wants to remember these remaining weeks with a smile, not as some stupidly, unnecessarily depressed kid that’s desperate for a break from himself.

And yet, he takes another gulp of beer. Motherfucker.

He knows he needs to get out of this corner sooner or later. He keeps kicking the lamp and using the walls for support. Also, he’s not positive how long he’s been in this exact spot. Yeah, he’s shit-faced, but he can tell he’s just a walking sad-sap with a huge-ass cloud raining on his pity parade. Everyone’s probably noticed how miserable he looks by now. And that won’t do - he’s the _fun guy_ : him and Mattsun. They usually brighten up everyone’s day with their endearing, adorable antics and -

\- where is Mattsun anyway? Now that he thinks about it, his partner in crime hasn’t been around for a while, and that just makes him feel even more out of place.

He finishes his beer and drops the empty can on the floor.

Now that he notices, Oikawa and Iwaizumi are nowhere in sight, either. What the hell? Are they having a third-year huddle somewhere without him? Those assholes. How _dare_ they? After everything they’ve been through, after all the inside jokes and wins and losses and - _shit_ , he should _not_ feel like crying right now. Why’re his eyes all watery? What the hell? Jesus, okay, pull it together Takahiro, _get your shit together._

Taking a breath and wiping at his stinging eyes for good measure, he takes great care not to stumble over to Kindaichi and Kunimi on the couch. Both of them are in the middle of what seems like a one-sided conversation, but that ends quick enough when he sits down (or collapses, rather) in Kunimi’s lap and makes the younger spiker spill the remainder of his water all over the couch. Kunimi just glares at him silently, but Hanamaki couldn’t give any less of a fuck.

“Where’re my friends?” He slurs, giving a pointed look at both first years.

Kindaichi looks positively distressed but Kunimi hardly bats an eyelash. “Aren’t _we_ your friends?”

“My _big boy friends_.”

“You’re an idiot,” Kunimi deadpans.

“You okay?” Kindaichi’s voice sounds closer all of a sudden. Hanamaki has to admit, the comforting rub to his shoulder feels nice, but the absolutely terrified tone of voice and the patronizing look Kindaichi is shooting him makes him feel like shit. “Do you want to sit with us for a bit? And uh…have some water?”

That probably is the best option, but Hanamaki’s too stubborn and emotional for logical choices at the moment. “Where’s Mattsun a-and Iwa and Oikawa? I _need_ them.” 

“Why?” Kindaichi asks softly, still rubbing his arm.

“Because…” Hanamaki starts, but then drops off. He doesn’t need to finish that sentence. They should know exactly _why_ he needs them. And he refuses to relay a pathetic explanation of why he needs the other third years at this very moment in time. Instead, he just defiantly glares at both boys, except he has some trouble keeping focused on their faces and ends up zoning out to the right of their heads.

“Holy shit, he’s a mess,” Kunimi blinks, waving his hand in Hanamaki’s face. Hanamaki vaguely wants to lick his palm. That’d show that little punk-ass dickweed.

“Should we do something?” Kindaichi half-whispers, panic rising as his comforting gesture turns into a death grip on Hanamaki’s shoulder (not that he really feels it, anyway).

“Stop him from drinking, number one.” 

“Well, no shit,” Kindaichi scoffs.

“Okay, but,” Hanamaki blurts, interrupting them because he hates them talking about him like he’s not there. He holds up both of his hands and says matter-of-factly, “I gots no more beer…Can I haz more?”

Kunimi suddenly seems alarmed. “Old memes. He’s a mess.”

Kindaichi pales. “Should we call an ambulance?” 

“ _Chill_.” Kunimi rolls his eyes. “He just needs some water and some chips and some time to sober up.”

“I can do that,” Hanamaki’s voice quavers, “when I’m with my friends.”

Kunimi sighs. “Alright, _fine_. I don’t think you should be out there when you’re like this, but _fine_. If you’re gonna be a whining baby, then let’s go right now.” 

“Dude, where are they?” Kindaichi half-whispers again, going with the flow even though it’s obvious he has no idea what’s going on.

“Outside, in the back.”

“Doing what?” Kindaichi entreats as he helps support one of Hanamaki’s sides. When Kunimi secures their (very pathetic) senpai they head towards the back door of the house.

“Delinquent shit.”

“I’m a delinquent, too,” Hanamaki pipes in proudly. “I’m not twenty yet and look how smashed I am.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Kunimi sighs. “This whole party is an illegal mess.”

Kindaichi sounds like he’s fucking whining, but doesn’t say a word as they move through the living room, kitchen and eventually reach the back door. But as Kunimi grabs for the doorknob, Kindaichi grows some backbone and states, “I’m gonna get you some water real quick. Kunimi, take him out.”

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Hanamaki sticks out his tongue and pushes away from the first year. Kunimi’s about to scold him when Hanamaki just snickers and holds the shorter boy’s hand. “Take me out, please.”

Kunimi simply rolls his eyes and looks somehow even more fed up, but Hanamaki feels much, much better like this. 

“Take me, Akira.” 

Kunimi silently fumes as he opens the door and leads the other spiker to the back porch.

Hanamaki is first surprised with how nippy it is for a spring night. He almost wants to go back in and grab his sweatshirt, but that thought leaves his brain immediately when he sees the activities taking place.

Hanamaki just wrinkles his nose. “ _Oikawa, what the fuck._ ” 

The captain squeaks and almost drops what looks like a cigarette down onto the wooden deck. His expression is positively terrified for .2 seconds before he realizes that it’s just his teammates. When he knows he’s safe, Oikawa gets pissed. “Makki! Don’t scare me like that!”

“Dude…” Hanamaki narrows his eyes as he takes in the scene: Oikawa leaning against the deck railing, Iwaizumi sitting on said deck railing looking strangely at peace with the world, and Matsukawa cross-legged on the floor with his backpack between his legs, just giving his usual secretive smile. “What’s going on out here?”

The door opens with a loud creak. Kindaichi comes outside with the promised plastic cup of water, stares at the scene, wrinkles his nose, gives the cup to Hanamaki, and then leaves, gaping at the third years as he returns inside with Kunimi, all in a record fifteen seconds.

Hanamaki wrinkles his nose, too, as he sips curiously from his cup. “Why does it smell fucking nasty as fuck out here?”

Iwaizumi is the first to answer. “We’re high.”

Hanamaki doesn’t quite understand. “…with drugs?”

Matsukawa chuckles, and pats his backpack lovingly. “Lots and lots of drugs, buddy.”

“It’s just a little weed, idiots,” Oikawa snorts, handing the not-cigarette to Iwaizumi before he retracts his arm and brings it back to his mouth. “One more, hold up.” Hanamaki thinks he looks too poised, too dainty as he drags, holds his breath in, and releases it with a horrific-sounding cough. Iwaizumi trades him a water bottle for the joint, and Oikawa gives him a thumbs up as he chokes/chugs.

Iwaizumi mutters something that sounds like _that’s what you fucking get for being greedy, asshole_ , and takes a much more natural looking inhale. Hanamaki just watches them both, perplexed out of his mind, and then switches focus to Matsukawa, who is close to hysterics on the floor.

“What the fuck,” is all Hanamaki can muster. This is just not even remotely close to what he’d been expecting.

“It’s dank,” Mattsun snickers. “So, so _dank_.”

“You didn’t invite me.”

“Sorry, Makki,” Mattsun keens, “I didn’t think you’d be into this.”

“But you thought they would be?”

Iwaizumi just shrugs but Oikawa looks guilty, as he continues to recover from his last hit. He hits his chest, and takes a shuddery breath, eyes watering. “Okay, look - I know this must be surprising.” And he actually gestures to himself, his reddened, leaky eyes, the too-big in the arms, not-Oikawa-style hoodie he’s wearing (is that Iwaizumi’s?) and sighs, “because I like… never do this stuff. I hardly drink. But… I just decided not to care today.”

Iwaizumi reaches down to offer the blunt to Matsukawa who claps his hands together and bows before taking it with another unnecessary snicker. Iwaizumi turns to Hanamaki and scratches the back of his neck. “That’s code for he’s still upset about the Interhigh and wanted to forget about it.”

Hanamaki feels understanding swell in his gut. 

_Huh. Me too, captain._

But Oikawa just smacks Iwaizumi’s arm and huffs. “Don’t make me sound like a baby. I just want to let loose. And it’s not like we have any more high school matches to play anymore. And when I play in university, I probably won’t get the chance to do this stuff.”

“You sound so sure of yourself.” Iwaizumi grins, surprisingly not exploding as expected on his best friend. That’s when Hanamaki notices just how fucking red the whites of the spiker’s eyes are, and how not uptight he looks, how he looks like he’s half asleep. He isn’t acting like the Iwaizumi Hajime he knows, that’s for sure.

“You know I got scouted, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa grumbles, puffing out his cheeks petulantly. “And when the hell am I supposed to be feeling this?”

“You might not.” Matsukawa hums, taking a long hit off the blunt and then blowing a couple impressive-looking smoke rings, while Oikawa gasps in horror and then angry envy. “Sometimes you don’t get high until the second or third time.”

“What the hell?! You didn’t tell me that!” Oikawa pouts, and then looks desperately at Iwaizumi. “What about him? It’s his first time, too!”

“Nah.” Both brunettes say in unison. “It’s not.”

“ _Iwa-chan_. You lied to me!”

“Sorry.” He says easily, and Oikawa just crosses his arms and holds his hand out expectantly for the blunt. “Me and Mattsun have done it a couple times before. At parties and shit.”

“Well, where the fuck was I?” Oikawa seethes right before snatching the blunt away from Matsukawa, who was holding it out of reach. “Did you just… just abandon me for drugs?”

“You and Makki were taking all those stupid face swap snaps last time, and we didn’t wanna interrupt.” Iwaizumi remarks, very not-spitefully, as he scratches a mosquito bite on his wrist.

“You excluded us for snapchat?” Oikawa gasps, looking to Hanamaki. “How fucked up is that?”

“Pretty fucked up,” Hanamaki slurs, and walks over to the group and sits down next to Matsukawa, but keeps a bit of distance. He’s mad at him, after all. “Y’guys left me alone tonight too, y’know.”

Iwaizumi nods. “Now _that’s_ fucked up.” He kicked his leg out to gently nudge at Hanamaki’s back. “Sorry, Makki.”

“Yeah, sorry.” Oikawa sighs, still bitter.

“We thought you were having fun.” Mattsun ruffles his hair. “We didn’t want to take you away from your six-pack.”

Hanamaki rolls his eyes. “I drank more than that. I’m not a bitch.”

“Dude.” Matsukawa mumbles, and then his eyes widen a bit, and there’s a flash of sobriety in his eyes. “Shit. Are you fucked up?”

In response, Hanamaki makes a peace sign and holds it horizontally over his right eye. 

“Guys,” Mattsun says, “Makki’s shit-faced. We left him alone and he drank himself to death.” It’s a guilty announcement, if he’s ever heard one.

“I forgot he was such a needy drunk.” Iwaizumi recalls, and then reaches out to shove Oikawa’s head. “Even needier than this jerk.”

“I beg your pardon!?”

“Dude, you’re pretty needy,” Matsukawa quips before throwing an arm around his inebriated best friend and hugging him in close. As Oikawa and Iwaizumi argue, Matsukawa questions him quietly, his voice pitched low and his words sluggish and hot against Makki’s cheek, “Don’t worry, we didn’t forget about you or try to exclude you or some shit like that. It was a mistake. We still love you, dude.”

“Then why didn’t you invite me?” Hanamaki is cognizant enough to know his voice is definitely not whisper-level, but a bit above normal volume. Matsukawa clicks his tongue and just pats his friend’s chest apologetically.

“We didn’t want you to start whining about wanting to smoke.” 

“But,” Hanamaki says, his eyes darting around before he finds the blunt in Oikawa’s hand, watching as he carelessly gestures with it as he and Iwaizumi snip at one another, “if you’re all doing it…”

“But we’re not drunk, my pal,” Matsukawa teases. “Getting crossfaded isn’t fun. I’ve made that mistake, and believe me, hallucinating about ghosts trying to kill me wasn’t the least bit enjoyable.”

“What?” 

There are too many things happening in this brief explanation for Hanamaki to fully process exactly what the issue is, and how murderous ghosts are involved. As he tries to make heads or tails of this new information, Matsukawa just stares at him for a moment. Apparently his brain is slowly processing things too, because it’s sudden how he seems to understand why Hanamaki is confused and begins to laugh.

“Being drunk and high at the same time. It’s awful. 0/10 would not recommend.” 

Matsukawa for some reason has taken up petting Hanamaki’s hair. It’s downright funny, and he giggles as it happens, but he has to admit, even though he can’t exactly feel it all that well since the booze makes his nerves dull, the gesture makes him feel safe and loved. 

Which is all a needy, drunk boy needs.

Hanamaki just remains there, letting Matsukawa play with his hair, scratch the back of his head, touch his neck. To be honest, he has no idea how long he’s been sitting there, just zoning out and letting his best friend _pet_ him, until he feels said best friend nudge his cheek.

“You okay?”

Hanamaki just nods dumbly and sighs.

“Wanna hear something funny?”

Now, he’s always down for that. He turns to Matsukawa excitedly and the other, to his chagrin, just puts his own finger to his lip and silently _shh’s_ him. He mouths _listen_.

 _Jeez_ , Hanamaki frowns. Now he actually needs to focus on listening. What a night.

But the night’s quiet, so it’s not long until a pair of voices, which have been chatting in the background, suddenly become decipherable and crystal clear in Hanamaki’s ears.

“ - you should always be this nice to me.”

“In your dreams, dipshit.”

Hanamaki doesn’t have to be sober to know who those voices belong to.

“C’mon.” Oikawa teases, and even to Hanamaki, it sounds the same as his flirting tone. “You’re so much hotter when you’re all courteous~”

“Don’t even try. Flattery won’t get you anywhere.”

“Yeah, but,” Oikawa giggles and Hanamaki can hear the deck creak with a shift in weight, the rustle of fabric, “will it get me a kiss?”

There was a pause before a grumble. “Fine.”

And then a small, very pleased-sounding moan pierces the air and Hanamaki covers his mouth and cannot believe his fucking ears. He gapes at Matsukawa in awe. His face silently screams _OH MY GOD???_ while Matsukawa bites his lip and smacks Hanamaki’s shoulder with an enthusiastic _I KNOW_.

Makki doesn’t have any self control. Even when he’s sober, it just isn’t there. He turns around and watches, gaping, as Oikawa and Iwaizumi, best friends and infamous mortal enemies, _make out shamelessly_ right beside them.

Well, _shit_.

Hanamaki may be fucked up, but he isn’t fucked up enough to not appreciate this. He and Matsukawa have been joking about this, calling this since they were first years. And nothing had come to fruition since then. But now, out of nowhere, there’s fucking _this_. These two, constantly at each other’s figurative throats, were now _literally_ at each other’s throats. Hanamaki watches Oikawa and Iwaizumi kiss each other, passionately kiss, and then almost screams in excitement when Oikawa pulls away to start nipping at the spiker’s throat. This definitely isn’t happening. Hanamaki is certain it isn’t. It’s some drunken hallucination, some intoxicated fever dream. But when he faces Matsukawa again, and he’s smirking just as wide, choking on his own laughter, Hanamaki knows that it’s one-hundred percent real.

 _Holy fuck._ Where the hell did he leave his phone? He needs to document this.

“How long?” Hanamaki whispers into his friend’s ear, as he pats down his jeans uselessly for his missing cell.

Matsukawa cups his chin as he thinks. “About a month. Iwaizumi and me were smoking. And then Iwaizumi went inside, and I followed him, and he went straight to Oikawa. And he just went up to Oikawa and was like, _you’re annoying but I want you_.”

“ _No._.”

“ _Yes._ Or at least in some form of those words.” Matsukawa pauses, and just zones out at Makki for a moment, but the other’s too drunk to really even take notice. “And Oikawa was completely sober. And he just straight up told Iwa that he felt the same, and those two asshats started to mack in front of me. I almost puked.”

“I can’t even believe that.”

“Dude, it _happened_. And it happens every time Iwaizumi smokes. But apparently Oikawa didn’t know he was high? I don’t know but… Now that Oikawa’s high, or at least is pretending he is, who fucking knows what’s gonna happen.”

“Have they -?”

“They’ve only kissed. I already grilled Oikawa after practice. Don’t worry. I wouldn’t just not ask.” Matsukawa nods, “I had to know that they weren’t fucking when they were sober.”

True, true.

“It’s just a meaningless party hooking up.” Matsukawa says. “ _Apparently_.”

“But,” Hanamaki tries to argue, because they both know that’s a crock of shit, but Matsukawa cuts him off.

“Yeah, I know.” Matsukawa relents. “It’s gonna be more, but it’s just not there yet.”

Hanamaki knows he shouldn’t be watching this like he favorite tv show, but he can’t help himself. Two of his best friends who need this, who want this more than humanly possible but who’re too thick-headed to do it, are finally _doing_ it. It’s disgusting. Iwaizumi cradles Oikawa’s face, so gently too, and Oikawa’s hands awkwardly hang around the ace’s stomach, hardly touching there, almost like the captain’s hesitant to make too much contact. 

Oikawa is definitely the sober one here, because he’s afraid.

Hanamaki feels bad for him. Which he knows is silly, because that jerk does things all the time that should prevent anyone from sympathizing with him. Maybe it’s the booze or the pathetic situation, but Hanamaki is sympathetic. Empathetic, even. Besides, maybe this will make both of them a little less intense and a lot more mellow (and a whole lot less annoying, too).

“Hey,” Iwaizumi whispers against Oikawa’s mouth, but to Hanamaki the words are clear as day, “ _kiss me_. Don’t hold back.”

Hanamaki doesn’t miss how Oikawa’s loose, timid fingers suddenly clench the spiker’s side, and he leans up into the other, says something that Hanamaki can’t make out, and then they’re _kissing_. 

It’s a mix between a romantic and an adult film kiss. He feels like maybe he should give those two some space.

Matsukawa must feel him stiffen or shift due to sudden awkwardness, because he just laughs quietly, and holds his best friend closer against his taller, stockier frame. “They don’t even notice we’re here.”

Even as fucked up as he is, Hanamaki doubts that.

They’re comfortable like that for a beat before Matsukawa looks around and then asks, “Bud, you lose your water?”

Oh yeah. He had water. Makki checks his hands, and sure enough, his cup isn’t there.

“Yo, it’s over there.” 

Matsukawa points out the lone cup on the deck railing, sitting right beside the two idiots making out. Hanamaki pouts at it, mad at the cup for residing in the most inconvenient spot. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it for you.” Matsukawa ruffles his hair and smiles. Hanamaki’s stomach feels warm.

The dark-haired boy gets up without tripping over his backpack or Hanamaki and lurches over to get the cup. With a sly look, he jokes, “Oikawa, don’t forget to do the biting thing. You know how much Iwa-chan _loves_ that.”

As expected, Oikawa throws him a middle finger as they kiss, but not a beat later, Iwaizumi makes a small sound and then Iwaizumi is holding the captain closer, hand scratching at the nape of Oikawa’s neck. The middle finger is gone, and that hand is instead on Iwaizumi’s thigh, and it’s like the douchey interruption never happened.

Matsukawa is back down beside Hanamaki, this time with him in between the curly-haired teen’s legs instead of his backpack. Makki holds the glass he was handed, and takes a drink, a big gulp of coldness that falls like a heavy lump into his full stomach, and the extreme coldness almost makes him nauseous. 

“Hey, not too fast. Don’t puke.” Matsukawa jokes again, but his voice is soft, breath tickling the back of Hanamaki’s neck. It’s nice, and Hanamaki takes another sip, smaller this time, and carefully holds the cup with extreme focus and love as he leans back into his friend. Matsukawa clicks his tongue and nudges into his lower back with his knuckle. “Dude, I’m not your pillow.”

“Who says?”

“Me,” Matsukawa leers.

“But you’re so comfy.” 

“I’m not as easy to woo as Iwaizumi is.”

Hanamaki laughs at that, and somehow spills a bit of his water.

“Okay, lemme take that.” And then the water is gone, and Matsukawa’s arms are around the drunk boy’s middle and Hanamaki likes it, making a happy sound and melting into the solid warmth of his best friend’s chest.

They’re quiet for a bit, just listening to the crickets and the cicadas in the dark, pointedly ignoring the wet noises and whispers from their busy friends. 

It’s a few minutes before Hanamaki asks again, not really knowing what to expect. “Can I smoke?”

“Dude, I already said -“

“Not now. But… eventually?”

“Oh. Yeah, sure. But you can’t drink then.”

Hanamaki snorts. “I hate drinking.”

Matsukawa is the one laughing now. “No you don’t.”

“Uh, yeah I do.” Hanamaki huffs. “It makes me feel tired. And really, really sad.”

“Oh.”

Hanamaki is not sure why Matsukawa suddenly sounds serious. It’s weird. He’s just telling the truth, and he doesn’t need comfort right now, or understanding or whatever. He just wants him to listen. Joke about feelings, make fun of him. And it’s not like he’s spilling out his guts or anything. They don’t operate like that, anyway.

Hanamaki just leans back further into his friend and slurs, “Scratch my back.”

That seems to get Matsukawa out of his head. “Why should I?”

“Because if you don’t I’m gonna text a pic of your stoned ass to your mom.”

“Yo. You’re not that much of dick.”

“Maybe I am.” Makki scrunches his nose.

“Are you sure?”

“Are _you_ sure?”

Matsukawa’s smile is audible in his words. “I am because if you do that, I’m using your phone to text a pic of those assholes and caption it _my first orgy!_.”

Hanamaki’s eyes go wide. That sounds like a real threat. “You don’t know my passcode.”

“Yeah I do. It’s 0416, the month and year origin of your favorite meme.”

Makki turns around and gasps. “O shit waddup.”

_“Here come dat boi.”_

It’s funny because neither of them are laughing.

“Damn.” Makki whines after a moment, defeated, and slumps into the other’s weight, his knees bending up. “I just wanted a back rub, bro.”

“You won’t even feel it.” Matsukawa snorts. 

Makki grumbles. That’s true. 

“I’d feel it, though.” Matsukawa grins, and Makki isn’t sure where the conversation is going until he elaborates. “When I’m high, I’m really aware of certain things. Like right now. I can… I can just really feel the bottoms of my feet.”

“Are you saying you have a foot fetish?”

Matsukawa punches his arm. His voice sounds defensive as he replies, “No, I’m saying just weird things are really just… noticeable.”

“Can you control what you focus on?”

“Not really… but when it happens, it’s nice.” Hanamaki’s interested with his tone of voice, so he swivels his neck back and up to look at his friend. Matsukawa has this expression on that Hanamaki can’t quite decipher, but he’s not sober and doesn’t care enough to play detective.

Instead he just goes along with it. 

“I bet sex would be good.” Hanamaki thinks aloud. “Or just anything, really.”

Matsukawa hums comically. “Just ask Iwa-chan.”

Makki narrows his eyes, not that his friend can see. He’s too busy looking up at the stars in the sky. “He’s a gross virgin just like the rest of us.”

That makes Matsukawa look down and whistle appreciatively. “I know, but he’s definitely had enough kissing experience.” Matsukawa returns to caressing Hanamaki’s side, and he doesn’t stop him, not even daring to. It’s super relaxing, and it’s a little chilly out here, and Hanamaki likes the reminder that someone cares about him. 

Not like the _caring_ he’s voyeuristically drinking in: the soft sounds Oikawa makes every so often, the way Iwaizumi keeps pulling him closer, how Iwaizumi’s legs lock into the deck railing, so he won’t fall backwards. How things just seem to be continuously heating up, how Oikawa’s letting the spiker put his fingers up the back of his shirt, scratch his skin… how much Hanamaki is interested in this.

How much he’s _jealous of it_.

Hanamaki swallows, but still continues staring anyway. He can blame it on the alcohol. No one’s taken him seriously all night, so it’s almost like a free pass to do what he wants.

(Not really.)

Iwaizumi’s reddened eyes slip open, and he catches Hanamaki’s focus on him, and he pulls Oikawa away from his mouth. The ace seems to pause for a moment, maybe weighing whether or not to call the light-haired teen out. But Iwaizumi doesn’t: he just grabs Oikawa by the hair and guides his head down to his neck. Oikawa moans, not missing a beat, and croons something Hanamaki can’t hear, but it doesn’t matter. Iwaizumi looks slightly annoyed, slightly resigned, but he doesn’t say or do anything to stop his friend from watching. Hanamaki just blinks.

He can’t take his eyes away.

Matsukawa might be high off his ass, but he notices the little back and forth. He touches Hanamaki’s side, squeezes it, and murmurs into his ear, making him shiver, “You’re freaking him out.”

Hanamaki just shrugs.

“You jealous you’re not getting any?”

To be honest, Makki isn’t really sure what he wants at the moment. He takes another second more, and gives up doing whatever it is that he’s trying to do. It’s not worth the embarrassment or risk. 

Hanamaki decides to zero in on Matsukawa’s bloodshot eyes instead. Matsukawa raises an eyebrow, and then squeezes Hanamaki’s side. Something in his face changes, and Hanamaki feels goosebumps on his bare arms. 

“Good boy.” It’s whispered into Hanamaki’s neck. 

“I wanna smoke,” is all Hanamaki says in response, almost defeated, a challenge, maybe, and cuddles into Matsukawa’s sweatshirt. Yeah, it smells gross, like marijuana and sweat and Matsukawa’s weird cologne that his mother buys him. But it’s warm and it smells very much like his friend and Hanamaki suddenly needs comfort, he needs it bad, and he doesn’t know why.

“No,” Matsukawa laughs, but it’s fake laughter. It’s the kind of cover up laughter that saves face, for Hanamaki, and he squeezes his side again, and Hanamaki makes an involuntary quiet noise. He’s feeling whoozy, a little more nauseous and then realizes something. That he’s on the precipice of an emotional break. It baffles him with each wave of feeling that crashes over him.

Either that or he’s gonna vomit. He can’t tell - both sensations feel awful.

Matsukawa’s fingers go up the back of his t-shirt, and Hanamaki gets double the goosebumps all over his skin. They’re not from the cold. He feels weird about it, but he doesn’t stop it, he likes it to some degree, and Matsukawa mumbles into his cheek, almost touching his skin, the ghost of his lips making him shiver, _wanna go to the bathroom?_.

Hanamaki vaguely registers that he really needs to pee, so he nods and gets up on his own. It’s swift and painless, and he’s surprised he’s balanced enough to pull it off. However, Matsukawa takes his sweet time to follow, patting his backpack and taking Hanamaki by his cold, shaky hands. Things feel like they’re not real, like they’re not happening.

 _I’m taking drunky to the bathroom_ , Matsukawa announces as they walk, but Hanamaki turns back to see Iwaizumi and Oikawa one last time. Iwaizumi is watching them, his eye on their interlocked hands, and he gives Hanamaki an unreadable smile and suddenly Hanamaki understands what’s happening.

It feels unreal, but it very much _is_.

When the back door thuds closed and they’re inside, the music heavy in the house’s atmosphere, Hanamaki’s heart drops into his very queasy, full stomach.

He says nothing as Matsukawa guides him into the bathroom and shuts the door. Hanamaki is shaking even more, and he’s not cold anymore. But his skin feels clammy, and his insides are shivering and the emotions are back and he doesn’t know what’s wrong.

“Okay, now do - _Woah, woah_.” 

Matsukawa is high out of his mind, but he’s touching Hanamaki’s shoulder with clarity, with sincerity. “Bud, are you okay?”

Hanamaki is crying his eyes out before he even knows he is. 

Matsukawa pulls him into a hug, rubbing his back and shushing him, fumbling to fix this mess that neither of them are completely comprehending. Matsukawa’s hands are hesitant, he’s opening and closing his mouth because he doesn’t know what to say, and it’s clear he doesn’t know the first thing about comforting a crying person, much less his best friend. 

Hanamaki feels like he’s gonna be sick, but he knows he’s not; it’s the overabundance of beer in his belly, his bladder too full. He hates when he gets like this, Matsukawa knows he gets like this, but neither of them know how to handle it. So Hanamaki just lets the tears stream, the sobs shaking him a little, and calming, awkward words whisper in his ear. _It’s okay. It’s fine._

It’s a little bit of time before he can breathe again, normally, instead of hiccuped sobs, and then he pushes Matsukawa away and tells him he’s gonna piss himself if he doesn’t go now. Matsukawa laughs - this is normal for them, this is comfortable territory - and leans against the sink, checking his phone as Hanamaki pees three feet away from him.

Hanamaki needs a second to recalculate. 

He’s sobbing at a party while his best friends make out, and his other best friend is sitting with him while he piss-cries. Hanamaki is shaking, and then there’s Matsukawa, checking his snap story like it’s the most natural thing in the world to do right now. It’s so dumb. It’s all so stupid.

Hanamaki starts to laugh.

“Dude,” Matsukawa jokes, eyes still on his phone, “Don’t miss.”

Hanamaki laughs harder. 

Maybe he misses a little.

(It’s Watari’s house anyway, who cares?)

When he’s done, he flushes, and washes his hands beside Matsukawa, who doesn’t move out of the way. Hanamaki nudges him with his hip, Matsukawa nudges back, still glued to his phone, zoning out, and Hanamaki is laughing harder. Matsukawa is laughing too, and he surprises him by slapping some water at Hanamaki’s shirt, and he begins laughing _hysterically_ , too. Both of them are inconsolable, doubled over, snickering like they always are.

Matsukawa’s fingers touch his side again when they calm down. Hanamaki looks down, sobriety flaring up in him, and he asks before he can censor himself. “Do you wanna touch me?”

Matsukawa’s hands snatch away from him fast, and his eyes may be bloodshot and dazed, but the guy looks scared shitless now. 

“You keep touching me.” Hanamaki points out. His voice isn’t condemning, or blaming, or mad. It’s level and curious. Because he is. And he wants to know. “We talked about kissing. You didn’t tell me about Oikawa and Iwaizumi. You tell me everything.”

“…And?”

“What’s up?”

Matsukawa’s spindly fingers twitch. “Dunno.”

Hanamaki feels a little better that his bladder’s empty. “You sure?”

Matsukawa breathes, staring at the tiled floor.

“Mattsun.” He says. “If you wanna, it’s okay. Just tell me.”

That does nothing to assuage him. He just stares, blank-faced, eyes alert and muscles taut like a fishing line. Because he knows he’s fucking _caught_.

But Hanamaki doesn’t really gives a shit. “I’d kiss you if you want.”

Matsukawa tenses, splutters. It’s like someone kicked him in the chest. “What?”

“We should kiss.”

“You’re really drunk. No.”

Hanamaki waves him off. “And you’re high as shit. It’s fine.” He smiles, eyes narrowed, almost passing for sober. “Don’t you wanna know if kissing feels good when you’re high?”

“It’s not like I have a lot of sober experience to compare it to.”

“So?” Hanamaki isn’t sure what’s motivating this. But he’s at peace with it. “Comparisons are stupid anyway. Just do it now and see if you like it.”

Matsukawa turns off the still-running faucet, looking for something to busy himself with. “Makki, c’mon.”

“Are you jealous of Oikawa and Iwaizumi?”

“What’s up with you?” Matsukawa looks uneasy. He’s sweating. “You were just crying.”

That hurts just a little. And it barely seems relevant. “Just answer my question.”

“Makki…”

“We’re both fucked up.” Hanamaki is at his wits end. He’s offering his best friend something that he clearly wants, and he’s playing coy about it. It’s more than frustrating, and it turns out, drunk Hanamaki Takahiro has next to no patience. “If we do it, and don’t like it, we can blame it on being naughty children.” Hanamaki smirks, and feels proud when Matsukawa’s lips twitch in a suppressed smile. “We could joke about it later. Only if we hate it.”

“But if we like it..?”

Hanamaki shrugs. “We can do it more.”

Matsukawa presses Hanamaki against the wall with his gangly body. He’s pretty sure the jackass just bruised his shoulder blade but he doesn’t really dwell on that because Matsukawa is _kissing_ him.

Well.

Hanamaki makes a noise, a surprised one, but he kisses back. Or at least he tries to: he’s never kissed anyone before. But he feels like he’s not fucking it up too bad, because Matsukawa is awkwardly hunched into him, and he makes a pleased, relieved sound. It sounds like the sound he makes when he gets two green teas out of the vending machine instead of one. He’s happy, and Hanamaki’s happy too, even if the other’s mouth tastes fucking gross from the weed.

Hanamaki decides to open his mouth, because he feels like he should. And then something touches his tongue, and it takes him a second to realize it’s Matsukawa’s. It’s wet, warm and it makes his gut seize. _Holy shit._ He presses into Matsukawa, and moans, because he likes this. It’s sloppy as hell and probably not the most skilled kiss, but he likes it. He likes Matsukawa’s weight, his tongue, his smoky breath, how hot and mellow his skin feels. 

He can’t figure out if Matsukawa’s just as into this as he is, but he’ll take it in stride, however the hell it happens.

Matsukawa sighs, licks into Hanamaki’s mouth in a really kinda gross way. While he tries not to shudder and gag, Matsukawa _moans_. It’s low, lower than his normal voice, and Hanamaki is quite intrigued by that and laughs, so he licks into the other’s mouth in the same nasty ass way. Matsukawa shudders, but Hanamaki thinks he can live with that. Matsukawa pulls away with blown pupils, and Hanamaki is laughing still, but the way he’s being stared at, how serious Matsukawa looks, makes him stop.

“You good?” 

Matsukawa just blinks, slowly. “I like this.”

Hanamaki raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t understand the gravity of the comment until Matsukawa repeats them, emphasizing each word. Hanamaki purses his lips, but then it hits his addled brain. _Oh_.

Hanamaki shrugs, and wiggles his tongue between his parted lips.“You wanna -?”

Matsukawa nods, desperately. “Can we?”

They’re kissing again, but this time it’s more than that. It’s hands, and legs, too, chests and arms and noses and just… Hanamaki didn’t know all these body parts could be involved in a kiss.

Matsukawa pecks his mouth, the corner of his lips. It’s sweet. Until it’s not. “Can I kiss your neck?”

“Sure.” Hanamaki holds Matsukawa’s waist tighter. When had that happened? “You gonna bite?”

“You want me to?”

“Only if you leave me hickeys in the shape of a dick.”

Matsukawa grins. “Challenge accepted,” and then he’s down, and Hanamaki sucks in a breath.

Woah, _okay_. Things speed up, and there’s a nice clench in his stomach. It’s not nausea or confusion. It feels good. He leans back into the wall, the cold tile somewhat soothing on his bare triceps, and he closes his eyes. 

Hanamaki decides he likes having his skin bitten, kissed, made all wet.

Matsukawa bites him again. Hanamaki moans. It’s the first time that he’s ever moaned in pleasure from something sexual someone’s done to him. It sounds stupid in his ears. He doesn’t like the way he sounds when he moans - it’s higher pitched, it wobbles, it sounds ridiculous. He asks Matsukawa if he feels the same.

“You sound like a failed porn star.”

“Like a lemon stealing whore?”

“A little worse.” Matsukawa jokes. “But I can dig it.”

“Thanks.” Hanamaki grins, but then that smile grows wobbly and his knees buckle because his sensitive skin is being sucked, right below his ear. It’s a lot of pressure and it hurts a little, but Makki enjoys it. He moans again, and he’s holding Matsukawa closer and telling him to do it harder.

“Freak,” Matsukawa snarks, and Hanamaki wants to be on the joke too, but he just wants to feel good instead.

Hanamaki whines into the back of his throat when Matsukawa obeys.

“It feels good?” Matsukawa shivers when he asks.

Hanamaki nods. “Wanna feel?”

Matsukawa swallows and Hanamaki’s on his neck, in the same spot, laving across skin with his lips, kissing it before he opens his mouth and nips. Matsukawa holds in his breath and clings to Hanamaki like he needs to keep himself standing. His breath rushes from him in a gasp, and he melts into Hanamaki, twisting his face away so there’s more skin to work with.

“Holy,” he moans, “I’m _hard._ ”

Hanamaki laughs. They joke about that all the time: they’re hard when the gym floor gets freshly waxed, when Iwaizumi compliments one of them, when they get a perfect score on a test. But when he presses into Mattsun again, he stops. 

Fuck, he is hard. He wasn’t actually joking.

“What’s up?”

“You’re hard.”

“I just told you…”

“You actually have a _boner_.”

Matsukawa looks horrified and annoyed at the same time. “You’re pleasuring me. It feels good;” Hanamaki just stays quiet, and Matsukawa shrugs, “And I’m high as shit and a little scared and I’ve been thinking of us doing this for a while and now it’s happening.”

That was some deep shit that they would have to discuss later. But for now:

“You have a _bro_ ner.”

Matsukawa goes bug-eyed and then he’s losing his shit.

At some point, they’re kissing again, and it’s better this time. It’s less gross, and licky, and Hanamaki feels like they’ve achieved a rhythm. He’s bummed though, because he thinks he should be hard too, because Matsukawa is making these admittedly _hot_ noises and is touching his stomach, rubbing at the fine hairs on his lower belly. But he’s not hard. It’s probably all the beer in his system making his dick dysfunctional. But does he want his dick to work? What would they do with it?

Matsukawa seems to have a plan. 

“I wanna touch your wee wee.”

“My wee wee is very drunk.” Makki jokes back, and Matsukawa snorts. “It’s broken.”

“Incredible.”

“I got whiskey dick.”

Matsukawa snorts. “Can I try?”

“Five bucks if you get me hard.”

“Okay.” Matsukawa’s hands struggle to undo his fly, and eventually, with a swear and a little victory song, he’s shoving down his pants, and dips his veiny hand into Hanamaki’s boxer briefs. His thighs tense. That warm hand cups his soft self, gently rubbing his length, his base, his pubes. It feels vaguely good, but his body isn’t reacting. He wants it to react, but it’s not. And his stomach does a nice flip, but the aftermath of the pleasure is a little dread, fear, and a lot of inadequacy. It’s hardly thirty seconds of the rubbing, before he tells Matsukawa to stop. His hand stops, it draws out of his pants, and Matsukawa awkwardly shrugs. “Sorry I failed your peen.”

“It’s okay.” Hanamaki licks his bottom lip. “Maybe when he’s sober.”

Matsukawa grins weirdly. “Okay.”

The spiker’s silent for a beat. “Does your broner want me to give it a squeezy squeeze?”

Matsukawa fucking blushes. Jesus. “I really want a squeezy squeeze.”

Hanamaki is almost hysterical as Matsukawa undoes his jeans for him. He’s nervous and a little scared, but who cares? It’s his best friend. They’ve done weirder things together. Besides, it’s no blowjob. It’s a handjob - Hanamaki’s been giving himself those for years. He’s practically a pro. And when he sees the dumb, salsa dancing emoji pattern on his best friend’s boxers, Hanamaki knows things will be fine. His hand reaches out, and, following up with his promise, _squeezy squeezes_ the bulge in the blocker’s boxers and says, “Nice underwear.”

Matsukawa’s mouth hangs open. “I got them on eBay for five hundred yen.”

“Fuck yeah.” And he squeezes again, rubbing the heel of his palm into him, and Matsukawa shudders. Hanamaki can see the faint muscles in his lower stomach twitch.

Matsukawa wraps his arms around Hanamaki’s neck, and rests his face against Hanamaki’s ear. It’s a way to save face, to literally hide his face from embarrassment. 

“Do you wanna kiss or something?” Hanamaki suggests, still fondling his covered cock.

“Give me a hot sec.”

“You want me to wait…?”

“Nah, just do it.”

“Kay.” And Hanamaki gets to work.

He’s never touched a dick besides his own before. He’s sure it’s alright to just touch it the way he strokes himself, so he goes with that plan. Besides, if Matsukawa hates it, he can always tell him to do it another way. So he grabs him, his cock just as veiny as his hand and as long as his fingers, and tightens his fist, slowly giving him a few pumps. Matsukawa sucks in air through his clenched teeth, so Makki does it again. Fingertips drip down to cup his balls, hold them close to his thigh, and cradles them playfully, softly. Matsukawa moans by his ear, and Hanamaki smirks. He’s got him by the balls. 

Matsukawa is wordless, and he rocks his hips for friction, for warmth, for something, so Hanamaki gently smoothes his hand over his sack, and that seems like a good move because he hears a _yeah_.

Hanamaki doesn’t linger too long there. His hand is back on Matsukawa’s actual dick, thumbing his slit, smoothing his foreskin, touching him everywhere. His whole dick is sticky and gross and really warm. Hanamaki thinks this is so funny: penises are comedic genius. He strokes him, squeezes and twists his fist. The movements are a little drawn out for the first few, then nice, firm - he rolls the foreskin again, and Matsukawa’s awkward body is burning.

Both of them are silent as he touches him, and Matsukawa’s breath quickens, puffs in hot, humid clouds into Hanamaki’s neck. The blocker holds him harder, and his hips are humping into Hanamaki’s fingers, because he wants more of it. He wants more, he wants to come, and Hanamaki knows this. He’s grinding, his legs are twitching, and Hanamaki thinks it will be so damn funny if Matsukawa explodes in his underwear after a few minutes of a handjob from a drunk boy. But he won’t let him, he’s not that mean.

He asks if he’s close, and Matsukawa grits out a blissful _yes_ , and he tells him he’s going to stop for a second so he can get some toilet paper. Matsukawa is confused but then he just breaks away and does it for him, and he’s handing it to Hanamaki with a trusting look. And Hanamaki’s doing it again, and Matsukawa is panting, his body rolling in a wound up, tight way until it’s not anymore. He’s freezing up and yelps, and Hanamaki’s rubbing him through a sudden, jerky orgasm and catching all his spunk in a wad of toilet paper in their kouhai’s bathroom at god knows what time in the morning. But it doesn’t feel weird. It’s okay. And Matsukawa heaves into his neck, his lower half stuttering, and he seems like if he lets go he’ll fall to the floor into a puddle of bliss.

Hanamaki doesn’t speak as he cleans him up. Matsukawa doesn’t either: he’s just trying to catch his breath, and Hanamaki doesn’t blame him.

But silence doesn’t last forever. Matsukawa clears his throat and hugs his friend. “Thanks.”

Thanks? That seems like a weird thing to say after your not sober best friend jerks you off.

Hanamaki’s head is a little cloudy. He knows what he did, and is strangely content with it. When he’s sober, that’ll be a different story, but now, he’s content. 

Matsukawa pulls away and does his pants back up. That’s when Hanamaki notices that the other’s face is all flushed and a bit sweaty, and it’s cool, because it’s different from the volleyball workout flush. It’s just circles of blood in the hollows of his cheeks, not his whole face red and shiny. It’s kinda endearing, and Hanamaki doesn’t know why. Why he leans in to kiss his nose is a mystery, but neither of them seem to mind.

Hanamaki doesn’t want to be cliche and say _that was nice_. But he also doesn’t want to say _you’re welcome_ either. So he settles for the first thing that comes to mind.

“My hand’s all sticky.”

Matsukawa blanches. “You know when you used to feel guilty about masturbating?”

He doesn’t, actually. He’s never been guilty about masturbating, but he humors him anyway. “Yeah… why…?”

“I feel guilty now.”

“C’mon. Don’t. S’fine.”

“Yeah but…” Matsukawa shifts his weight, “you’re really fucked up. And I’m really high. And we abandoned our friends for this and…”

“Dude, shh. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. We’ll talk about it when we’re normal, okay?” Hanamaki hugs him, and uses him as support, too. “You’re a sexy beast, dude.”

Matsukawa sighs, but it sounds like he’s smiling. Hanamaki checks, just to be sure: he is. 

“Do you wanna go back outside?” 

Hanamaki nods. “I’m really hot.” And it’s true, he’s sweating and he feels too warm inside and he wants that chilly breeze back.

“The hottest and dankest.”

“Fuck off.” But Hanamaki’s laughing as they leave. He doesn’t wash his hands, but he’s okay with that (for now.)

When they get back outside, they’re surprised to find Oikawa on the floor, with Iwaizumi asleep in his lap. Oikawa’s long fingers run through the other’s cropped hair, and he shushes them both as they close the door behind them. Makki might be a mess with sticky fingers, but he sees the hickeys all over the setter’s neck and his swollen lips and he’s sure he doesn’t look as bad as that.

Matsukawa sits down besides the setter, and rubs his back quietly. Oikawa glares at him, but it’s all half-heartedly: he’s in his head, far too gone inside. Oikawa is miles away, and he’s sneaking glances down at Iwaizumi, drooling in his lap. It’s feeding that self-inflicted loop of overthought. It’s cute but it’s sad, and Hanamaki empathizes with it right in his bones.

Hanamaki gives Oikawa a thumbs up and a questioning look. _Yes? No? Are you two official yet?_ Oikawa just sighs. 

That answers that.

 _Ask him out_ Hanamaki mouths, like it’s easy. Oikawa flushes and says nothing, pointedly not looking at either of them.

“Just do it.” Matsukawa whispers. “He likes you. A lot. And he’s only making out with you when he’s high for a reason.”

Oikawa looks up at that, curious and hopeful.

“Because when he’s high, he’s got no fucking inhibitions. That’s why. He’s using that to help him make a move, idiot. He wants you,” Matsukawa reassures. “He just doesn’t know how to tell you sincerely.”

Oikawa bites his lip, and seems to mull it over himself. Then he smiles crudely, and brushes his thumb over Iwaizumi’s cheek before mumbling, “take your own advice.”

Matsukawa looks like he’s been shot, but Hanamaki’s found his half-full water cup and chugs what’s left during that exchange. He doesn’t hear it - he’s too focused on his water. And he’s still drinking as he sits down with the rest of his friends, using Matsukawa’s shoulder as a pillow.

After a moment, tense, with Oikawa’s gaze concentrated on him, Matsukawa sighs. “Maybe I will.”

“Good,” Oikawa mumbles, “Now shut up, or you’ll wake up Sleeping Beauty.”

“But, guys,” Hanamaki purrs, “I’m already awake.”

“No, you should go to sleep.” Matsukawa slips his hand around Hanamaki’s waist, caressing up his side in a soothing way. Hanamaki twists into it, the sensation ticklish and lulling. It feels right, cuddling like this. Hanamaki leans up and pecks Matsukawa’s cheek, and he doesn’t miss the sound of Oikawa gasping.

He hears that loud and clear.

**Author's Note:**

> THERE WENT DAT BOI
> 
> (be safe kids & remember, _sober consent is important_ )
> 
> bishounen-curious.tumblr.com


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